


Occasions Like These

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Demon Dean Winchester, M/M, Season/Series 10, Tumblr Prompt, character death...sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:37:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3496967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dean Winchester, what have I told you about pants?"</p>
<p>Given the circumstances, Crowley cannot say he objects to Squirrel’s lack of discretion, though. Or that he minds the view. On the contrary, Crowley - a creature who does not sleep - keeps a bedroom for occasions like these.</p>
<p>--<br/>General Season 10 spoilers through 10x10: "The Hunter Games"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Occasions Like These

**Author's Note:**

> A Tumblr anon sent:
> 
> _Demon Dean and Bleeding Cas are disturbingly good looking. Hmm, the combination of those two... Nope, that'd be a major angst fest. They would look so good in the middle of angst, though. *appreciates disturbing scenario in aesthetic way*_
> 
> This is an anon after my own angst-loving heart ^^b
> 
> I added Crowley, because of Season 10 feelings...

"Dean Winchester, what have I told you about pants?"

Given the circumstances, Crowley cannot say he objects to Squirrel’s lack of discretion, though. Or that he minds the view. On the contrary, Crowley - a creature who does not sleep - keeps a bedroom for occasions like these.

The room swims in candlelight, hazed and flickering like a dream. Crowley has a taste for the Victorian. Elaborate candelabras, iron bedposts in a Gothic arch. Sheets of silk, pulled back and waiting.

Dean has not made use of the bed yet. His attention is too focused on the angel wilted beneath his body. Head tilted back. Blood smeared across his lips. It trickles down his chin and drips in slow lines on his face. 

Castiel's expression is still. No visible reaction to the demon’s mouth on his neck.

In one swift motion, Dean rips Castiel’s shirt buttons. He pushes the garment off, exposing bruised and broken skin.

Castiel sighs, proof that he is still alive. He closes his eyes.

"I find it interesting that you would choose my bedroom for this reunion," Crowley observes. 

‘Interesting.’ Not unpleasant.

Dean looks at him with black eyes. My, my. Crowley still isn’t used to this. Dean Winchester, taking a howl at that moon.

"Call it a show of gratitude," Dean says.

Crowley licks his lips. ‘Interesting’ is a good word.

Dean returns his attention to the angel. Castiel’s grip is tight on Dean’s arms. Maybe he is trying to fight? Or is he trying to raise his righteous man from Perdition? Heh.

Maybe Castiel wants to pull Dean closer. He always was Castiel’s favorite pet. Still is, even with his dying grace. 

"I accept, in that case," Crowley replies.

He shrugs off his jacket, and out of his shirt and tie. The three garments are folded neatly and placed in a side chair. Pants, too. And the underwear beneath them.

He lies naked on the silk sheets. Just the feel of them makes Crowley rumble with pleasure.

On the outside, Crowley appears to have expensive tastes. But really, he is simple enough. It is the tactile things that mean the most to him. The burn of Craig on his tongue. The sway of sheets on his skin. The sight of angel and demon joining as one.

"If you accept," Dean murmurs, "why are you over there?" His voice is muffled against Castiel’s neck.

Hm. Well, then.

"The better question is…why are you _there_ , Squirrel?" Crowley asks. "This is a bed fit for three. And, by the looks of things, our tree topper can barely stand." 

He hears Dean’s breath of laughter just before he kisses Castiel. Thoughtful as always, Dean turns their bodies to give Crowley the perfect view. Dean’s tongue drags across Castiel’s red-stained lips. Blood coats his mouth as Castiel stutters.

Castiel lifts his head when Dean pulls away, swallowing after the lips he’s lost. Crowley sees his protege’s slow-spreading grin. Dean has Castiel, and he knows it.

"You look good like this, Cas," Dean says. He slides a hand into Castiel’s hair.

Crowley zeroes in on the red on Dean’s mouth. Leftover sweetness that Big Brother Winchester licks away.

Castiel’s head dips back, doll-like. He gasps for air he should not need, but does. That fading grace of his.

Dean drags his eyes down the angel’s body. Pauses at his pants, filled out by arousal. 

Inspired, Dean drags a thigh between Castiel’s legs. The angel arches, tense with want. Dean drinks in the sound of his groan.

"So good like this," Dean murmurs. He sounds too reverent, too like his old self.

But he snaps out of it quickly.

Dean mouths at the blood stains on Castiel’s chin. “Watched you break too many times, angel,” he murmurs. “Seen you fall so much, I learned to like it.”

Crowley hums agreement and winds a hand around himself. He gives his cock a slow squeeze.

His mouth tips upward when the position beside him on the bed becomes occupied. Castiel slumps into the sheets. Dean climbs on top of him. His black eyes glint at the glazed, blue stare looking back at him.

"C’mon, Cas," Dean urges. He hooks a finger under Castiel’s chin. Tilts his head up to nuzzle his lips. Their noses brush in a cruelly tender way.

Castiel’s eyes shut. He lifts his head towards Dean’s. 

But Dean does not kiss him, not yet. He hovers, breathing against Castiel’s lips. Licking his own.

Crowley allows his gaze to wander. Dean holds his own cock in his hand, hard and red. His knee presses between Cas’ legs, urging them to open. Crowley is surprised by how easily Castiel surrenders. Perhaps he wants this, has always wanted it. 

"Dean," Castiel whispers, out of nowhere.

Dean smiles wide; one of his old, boyish grins. Castiel lifts his head higher, and Dean finally gives in.

Their kiss is…sweet. A tender meeting between old friends. It starts with lips alone, then tongues between opened mouths. Stroking lightly. A practiced rhythm.

Castiel’s hands come to life. They curl over Dean’s waist, positioning him. The demon chuckles. He nudges out of their kiss seconds before pressing inside.

Dean enters much slower than Crowley anticipated. But this lazy pace is its own kind of torture. Dean lets Castiel feel every inch of his cock stretching him incrementally wider. Castiel moans and splits his legs, accommodating Dean’s body. 

The angel turns his head. He stares at Crowley, as if realizing where he is for the first time. Then, he glances at the hand Crowley has around his dick. 

"Hello, darling," Crowley greets. He gives himself a casual squeeze. 

Crowley has a perfect view of Dean fitting himself to Castiel’s ass. This close, Dean is able to nuzzle his face into Castiel’s neck. His eyes are closed, and his smile is pure bliss. The demon Winchester smells his angel deeply. Then kisses up the side of Castiel’s throat. Castiel’s sighs beneath him.

Crowley absorbs the sight greedily. This is not fucking, it is too intimate for that. What a beautifully twisted torture. Sweetness at the hands of Castiel’s once righteous man. This may have been love once. Now, it is something else, something warped and dark in soul.

Dean is gentle, but there is something animal-like to his possession.

He turns black eyes towards Crowley. Low-lidded slits of granite, and a smirk against Castiel’s neck. Dean flashes his teeth seconds before digging them into Castiel’s skin. He pulls, roughly worrying the flesh between his lips.

Castiel groans. Crowley watches his cock bob between their stomachs. Precum is leaking at the tip, leaving trails on Dean’s stomach.

Crowley pumps himself harder. The pulse of his vessel throbs in his fist.

"Look at you, getting off on this," Dean murmurs against Castiel’s jaw. "Crowley, you kinky fuck." Dean mouths at the stubbled ridge, tracing the outline of bone. 

"King of Hell, sunshine," Crowley reminds him. "Kinky doesn’t even scratch my surface."

He watches Dean’s body angle against Castiel’s. His hips move faster, sharper.

Castiel’s drugged state changes abruptly. He gasps and bridges under Dean’s weight. 

My, what a pretty bird.

Dean agrees, if his hum is any indication. He rewards Castiel with a hand around his dick, pumping him as he continues to fuck. Castiel moves towards his fist, then up into his waist. 

Castiel’s eyes shift towards Crowley again. They stay on him a moment, expression blank. 

Then, something strange happens. He smiles. An insane, off-his-rocker, blissed out of his mind smile.  All teeth, eyes dancing with glee.

Castiel reaches out viper-fast. Hooks a hand on Dean’s face and pulls him down hard enough to make the demon grunt. Their lips crush together.

Castiel’s other arm winds around his waist. He forces Dean’s body to stay buried deep inside him.

Dean groans, clearly a fan of the rough treatment. He moves faster at Castiel’s urging, close-fucking him. Dean stays deep, drumming successive thrusts inside him. Castiel gasps his encouragement. 

Mother of sin, this is divine. Crowley moves his hand faster. Coaxing himself. Harder, sooner.

Fuck, they are pretty when they come. Dean growls into Castiel’s mouth. Castiel wrenches back with a hiss. His body is taut, waist jumping recklessly. He spurts between their bodies, staining skin in delicious streaks. 

Crowley groans when he frees himself. His body relaxes into the pillows, drunk with pleasure.

Crowley hums when the mattress shifts. The angel and the demon lie on either side of him, warm with orgasm. The room smells of sex and debauchery. Crowley is satisfied. 

"You good with that?" Dean asks.

Crowley chuckles. Yes - very good.

"You sure, Crowley?"

Puzzled, Crowley lifts his head.

It happens too fast. 

Before he can protect himself, Dean raises the demon dagger. Castiel lifts his angel blade. Their matching smiles glare down at him. 

In perfect unison, the two knives pierce the chest of the King of Hell. Crowley lowers his head. He sees steel, hands, and his own blood gushing forth.

The demon tries to speak, but his words come out as a gargled gasp. Electricity crackles beneath his skin. His dark essence explodes under his human mask.

Blue and black eyes fade. Shared smirks disappear.

Crowley dies between the bodies of Castiel and Dean Winchester. 

***

Crowley jolts to the edge of his throne. Cold sweat trickles down the back of his neck.

A few paces away, his mother gasps. “Why, Fergus! Are you all right, dear?”

"Fine," Crowley mutters. He looks around, suspicious.

Demons do not dream. What, then? A vision?

"Are you sure?" Rowena stands above him with a patient eye. "You look like you’ve had a scare, love."

"I’m _fine_ ," Crowley repeats. He sounds more stern, more like himself.  

But he does not feel it.

He puts his hand up when Rowena tries to embrace him. Shoots her a warning glare. It is enough, thankfully, for his mother to leave him with a sigh.

Crowley frowns. Behind his eyes, he sees blue and black. Lust. Weakness.

Things that will kill him. If he does not kill them first.

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and thanks for the idea, anon!
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://daisy4days.tumblr.com) if you want to say hi :D


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